


Thicker Than Water

by thyla_of_mine



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Doctor and Patient, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Self Harm, bones takes care of his crew, but he has some issues, pavel is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thyla_of_mine/pseuds/thyla_of_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't even meant to cut that deep this time. He just needed to feel, and seeing the blood trickle down his arm pulled him back into that state of mind where nothing meant anything, nothing touched him, and it wasn't enough. And then the edge of the razor slipped in further than it ever had, past his layers of skin, and from the feel of it, a little into his muscle. He felt ashamed of himself, and more than a little worried about what was going to happen. He was the youngest cadet ever assigned to an off-base mission, and here he was, acting unbalanced, unstable, and immature. Crazy, he thought. That's what Papa would call this. Why did he have to be this way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pavel could feel the hum of the engine as the Enterprise shot through space, the artificial gravity keeping his feet on the floor. The sleek floor clacked under his Starfleet issued boots, and he focused on the sound, and on his breathing. He needed to stay steady. He could feel the fingers on his left hand getting colder, or was that just paranoia? He couldn't have lost that much blood in so few minutes. He just needed bandages, and he needed them now.

It felt like his head was buzzing with thoughts, too fast to pin down and examine. He knew there was no logic, no reason to what he'd been doing. And the question that anyone else would pose to him was, why didn't he just get help?

He couldn't. It was terrifying, the thought of someone else knowing his weaknesses so well. So, instead, as always, he tried to be strong. Tried to pick up the slack of those around him, to carry their burdens alongside his. He had to be everything that the situations he was in demanded, and it was exhausting. He was just a seventeen year old kid who felt alone, lost, and uncomfortable in his own skin. Дерьмо, he just wanted a hug. 

As he slipped quietly into the med bay, he breathed in the squeaky-clean scent of disinfectant and medical equipment. It smelled... white. If white had a smell. A couple of nurses were bustling around, putting away equipment and stripping beds. And in the back of the room, there stood a man that Chekov had never seen before, but he recognized him to be wearing the Senior Medical Officer uniform. Looking at him, Pavel felt his face get warmer, but he passed it off as embarrassment for the situation he had found himself in. Usually, it was so easy for him to talk to superior officers, because despite his age, he knew what he was talking about. He had received good training, and that skill had weight that bought him respect. But there was no dignity in harming oneself because of internal turmoil. It was pathetic.

The man seemed to be grumbling about something, and Chekov felt his eyes widen as he saw the doctor grab the shoulder of the patient he was tending to and jam a hypospray into his neck.  
“Dammit! Jim, hold still!” He said, heavily accented voice colored with annoyance and worry. 

“Bones...Wish I didn't even know you...” the blonde patient mumbled as the sedative took affect and he passed out. The doctor sighed, and walked around the bed, where he finally looked up and noticed Pavel.

“Oh, hey kid, you need something? Feeling alright?” 

Pavel's heart was beating faster, probably because of how very aware he was that he was bleeding through his sleeve. He tried to avoid making eye-contact with the doctor and pressed his arm tightly against his side. Hopefully, the stain wouldn't be visible from where the CMO was standing.

He didn't want to have to tell anyone, he didn't want anyone to know. It would make him vulnerable, more so than he already was. Despite this, he also desperately for needed someone to know, for someone to care. Someone that he could lean on. But no, he would be strong, just like he always had been.

“Um, yes sir, just some bandages, please sir. I'm needed on ze bridge.” Finally braving the possibility of eye contact, Chekov peered over at the doctor and found him staring at him suspiciously.

“Oh, don't tell me something's already gone wrong, we just left the spaceport. Show me the way, kid, I'll bandage them up myself.” He began to rush about, gathering supplies into his medical kit. When he didn't get a reply, he turned, and saw Pavel's pale face and stiff posture, tilting slightly like he was going to faint.

“You know what, kid? We ain't going anywhere until I've checked you over.” The doctor grabbed the wheelchair that he had taken Kirk to his bay in, and parked it behind the young boy.

Chekov gripped one of the handles on the back of the handles on the back of the wheelchair, struggling to stay steady. The blood had all drained from his face, his lips almost reaching a shade of pale blue.  
“Please, sir, I just need ze bandages, zere are more important zings for you to do besides give me a checkup...”

The world tilted and Pavel found himself falling forward, straight into the doctor's arms. He immediately tried to straighten up but found his knees giving way, and his butt landed squarely in the wheelchair. He kept his arm secure against his chest now, the change in angle having let a good spurt of blood release into his sleeve. He looked up at Dr. McCoy, hoping he hadn't noticed the blood yet.

“Nah, I need a break from these idiots running around, risking their well being. Besides, I'm here to look after my crew, and you're part of it.” the southerner insisted as he wheeled him into a private room, shutting the door to keep out the noise.  
As the door shut behind them, Pavel watched the doctor rifle through his bag, pulling out a tricorder and an old fashioned stethoscope.

“I know you're thinking this is a bit old-fashioned,” he said, positioning the chest-piece of the equipment right under Chekov's heart and motioning for him to take a deep breath. “But I like to do things the old fashioned way when I can. Nothing can go right, with all these new gadgets.” He nodded, seeming satisfied with Chekov's respirations and heartbeat, and began to look for his tricorder in his kit.  
“So, kid, are you in any pain? You seem tense.” He finally fished the equipment he had been looking for from the depths of his bag, and began whirring it around Pavel's collarbone, focused on his readings.

Pavel took a shuddering breath, and felt his eyes well up with tears as he realized he would have to admit to the doctor what he had done to himself. His mouth trembled as he tried to find the right words. He was afraid of being yelled at, like his father had done before he left for Starfleet Academy, or worse, being reported unfit for duty. All he'd ever wanted was to be useful, and he thought he'd finally found that aboard the Enterprise. And now he'd screwed everything up.

Just like he always did.

“S-sir...” He mumbled, hating the way his accent came out stronger in his distress. His arms began to tremble with the first shocks of a panic attack. His breathing hitched, and had Leonard not already deposited him in a wheelchair, he definitely would have collapsed at this point.

“Hey, hey, now. Everything's gonna be fine, yeah? No need to cry. I'm not that ugly, am I?” He reassured, putting his tricorder down and gently resting his hands on the boy's forearms, and moving them away when that seemed to make it worse. “You need to take some deep breaths with me, okay? I'll count, you breath. You're safe, I'm right here.”

Pavel noticed, through the haze of panic coating his mind that the doctor had a thick accent when he was worried, almost...like honey. Not that that made any sense. He was going to get kicked out of Starfleet he would have to go back to his father. No, he'd go anywhere before that. He'd live on the streets first.

He vaguely felt Dr. McCoy settling a thick blanket between his shoulders and the back of the wheelchair, tucking the corners together and pulling it tight. “One, two.” He said, breathing deeply in demonstration. “Three, four. See, kid, you're doing great. You're fine.” 

Chekov felt his panic attack withdrawing slowly, aftershocks of sobs knifing their way through his chest just when he thought he was calm. Eventually, they subsided.

“Okay, now I gotta know why you panicked so I can help you. You know what doctor-patient confidentiality is, don't you? Whatever you say in this room stays between us.”

“Anyzing?” Chekov asked, hope sparking in his mind. 

“Sure, as long as it doesn't endanger anyone else.” He pulled a chair up and settled in from of Pavel, his hands clasped together, listening. “Promise,” he added when Pavel's face showed a hint of disbelief.

“O-okay, well...” He couldn't find the right words and before he could change his mind, he gingerly rolled up his sleeve, exposing the layered red lines of scars, along with the fresh, deep cuts he had made after he got off of his earlier shift. There were pale, fading lines, criss-crossed and covered by newer gashes, some scabbed over and some scarred into puckered, shiny red lines. 

He watched as the doctor's eyes widened, and were filled with something akin to sadness or regret.

“Aw, kid. Let me fix that for you.” He stood, and went to one of the cabinets at the end of the room to grab a dermal regenerator. He returned, strapping it over the younger man's forearm, and leaned back I his chair, seemingly weighed down and exhausted. 

“I...I am sorry, sir.” Pavel whispered, his voice uneven. He didn't know how to react to someone not freaking out about his habit. The only person who had ever found out, besides the doctor, was Pavel's father, and that hadn't ended well. By the end of that night, Pavel felt he had more reasons to mutilate himself than reasons not to. He tried not to think about it.

“Kid.” McCoy's voice was serious, tinged with worry and apprehension. “You weren't trying to...?” 

Oh. Oh. He thought Pavel had been trying to kill himself.

“No, no sir! I was just...it wasn't...that wasn't it at all.” He was babbling at this point, but it felt like something that had been holding him back had snapped, like a dam holding back his emotions had broken. He took a deeper breath, and it felt like he was cleansing himself in a way. He was okay. The worst was over.

Chekov shifted in the wheelchair, his arm resting in his lap with the dermal regenerator whirring quietly, his skin cells stitching themselves back together under the safe cover of the machine. He tried to think of a way to explain how self harm was almost second nature to him at this point, how it didn't take much to send him running back to it. He would almost call it an addiction, but that couldn't be it. It wasn't normal, wasn't natural. He wanted to stop. But he didn't.

And he didn't know how to say that.

McCoy watched him carefully as he took deep breaths, twisting his hands in his lap. “Okay, how bout this? I ask questions, you answer. I won't put any of this in your file, but I need to understand what's been going on so I can take care of you.” He leaned forward, settling one of his hands atop both of Pavel's. “Sound okay?”

Chekov looked up from his lap, into concerned deep brown eyes. “Yes sir! Sounds good.” His eyes seemed to clear, like storm clouds rolling away.

“So, how long have you been... hurting yourself?” The doctor asked carefully, his hand squeezing the younger boy's. 

“Um...it has been a while. Zree years? I did eet for ze first time when I was 14.”

Leonard swallowed hard, trying not to let it show on his face how much the idea of Pavel being in that much pain disturbed him. “Okay, and do you normally go this deep? What do you normally do?”

“No sir, I normally just, um, draw a little bit of blood, it...it clears my head. Makes me feel more...vhat is phrase? More normal.”

The doctor nodded. He had been assigned to cases like this in med school, though they focused more on the psychological side of health care, and not the physical. However, this effected the boy's health, and on top of that, he cared about Pavel. Maybe it went beyond being the kid's physician, he didn't know. But now was not the time to dissect his feelings, it was time to be the goddamned great doctor he was, and help his patient.

“Yeah, that's normal in these kind of cases. You aren't fucked up, okay, kid? I don't want you thinking those kinds of thoughts. This, thing you've been doing, it's awful. And we're going to fix it. But you ain't messed up, okay? There's nothing wrong with you.”

Chekov felt his eyes burn at those words. He hadn't bared any of his insecurities to the man, how had he known exactly what he had been thinking? His eyes shifted downward as he focused on the floor and avoided making eye contact, biting the inside of his cheek. “Thank you, sir.” He said, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

He stiffened when he felt warm arms encircle him, pulling him so that his face rested on the inside of a warm shoulder. He felt, for once, completely safe, like nothing could reach him.

“You're safe, kid.” He heard, muffled because he was currently pressing his face deeper into the doctor's chest and reaching his arms around the man's neck. He felt like he could stay he forever

McCoy rubbed soothing circles into his back and he felt the remaining tension in his body unravel. He breathed deeply, feeling himself began to slip into unconsciousness. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept, for he'd been running around the ship all day, taking orders from just about everyone. He sighed, contented, and glad that he seemed to have found a safe place.

He'd always done everything alone. Never had anyone to lean on, not even as a child. And now he felt all the pain that he'd had to hide, dissipating. 

Strong arms slipped under him and lifted him from the wheelchair, and he was too far gone to even complain. He relaxed into the warm chest he was resting against, hiding the small smile that crept onto his face against the fabric of McCoy's shirt. 

He was set down on a medical bed, and felt cool, soft sheets being pulled up and tucked around him. A warm hand rested on his forehead, brushing unruly hair out of the way, and Pavel opened one of his eyes, looking up at the doctor.

“You know we're going to have to talk about this later?” McCoy asked, his voice gentle. Pavel nodded, pulling the blankets up higher over his shoulders, curling up into the warm cocoon the doctor had provided for him. How did this man always seem to know just what he needed??

“Okay, then, darlin'. You get some sleep.” He walked away toward the main of the medbay, gently shutting the door behind him, and Pavel sighed, slipping into the best sleep he'd had in ages.

It would be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chekov wakes up in the med bay. Words are spoken.

When Pavel woke up, he felt warmer and safer than he had in days. He rolled over and considered going back to sleep. Then, a thick smell registered in his brain, and he felt his eyes slip open. Coffee? Why did his room smell like— ohhh. He wasn’t in his room. He was in… the med bay.

He felt his cheeks heat up and panic filled his veins, his breath turning to lead in his lungs and pulling him under. He’d ruined everything. The doctor knew, and now he was going to lose his job, the best part of his life, everything he’d worked for. All gone.

He curled into a ball, tightening the sheets around his shoulders. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, he could figure out a way to fix things. He could pretend nothing ever happened. Taking deep breaths, Pavel tried to ground himself, concentrate on the room around him. Coffee, antiseptics, metal. Clean smells. And...faint snoring?

He peeked out from under his cave of blankets and craned his neck so that he could see the desk at the opposite end of the room, piled with datapads and medical supplies. Dr. McCoy was snoring gently, his head pillowed on his hands, deep breaths causing his chest to fall and rise. Pavel felt his face heat up and he didn’t know why. /That’s adorable/, he thought. /Wait, no! The doctor isn’t adorable, he’s gruff and grumpy and not-exactly-scary, but not adorable. Ебать, I need to pull myself together./

Pavel slid out of his nest of blankets as quietly as he could, and tiptoed across the sleek floor to retrieve his boots. He didn’t trust himself to stay completely silent with them on, so he carried them in one hand and his shirt from the day before in the other (he was still wearing his regulation undershirt and his uniform pants still. Not exactly what he wanted to be seen wearing in the hallway, but his room was only a few decks up, and he was good at being small and avoiding attention. Almost like he was invisible.) and began to creep towards the med bay door. He jumped and took a startled breath when the doctor let out a particularly loud snore and shifted in his seat.

/Shit, shit, shit./ He was waking up. Pavel tried to make the last few strides to the door before McCoy woke up entirely, but the exact moment his hand met the door, he heard a bleary sigh, and the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Kid, you know you aren’t s’posed to be outta bed.” He yawned, putting a gentle hand on Chekov’s shoulder to turn him around. “I haven’t given you medical clearance to leave. Plus, I fetched you breakfast. You should feel special.” He smirked a bit as he said that last bit, seeming to leak sarcasm. Pavel wondered if he was always like this. He kind of liked it. McCoy’s attitude seemed to make the weight on his shoulders seem a little lighter, to let some of the tension in his belly out like air from an over-inflated balloon.

“Sorry, sir…” He said softly, eyes cast to the floor as he let the sleep-deprived doctor lead him back over to the bed, and then watched him grab a tray laden with breakfast foods over from one of the small tables by his desk. He dug in almost immediately, shoveling scrambled eggs and bites of bacon almost unchewed down his throat, sighing happily when the warmth radiated from his stomach to the rest of his body. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was.

Wait a minute. If the doctor was asleep when he woke up, and the food was already ready when Pavel tried to leave (and warm and delicious and perfect—), when had McCoy slept? Had he slept? Those circles under his eyes spoke of night hunched over broken patients, stitching up wounds like circuitry, working miracles 24 hours a day. It worried Pavel a little. 

“Doctor, did you go to bed last night? The food was already ready, and you were asleep at your desk…?” He peered shyly up through his lashes, worried he would overstep. This man had already helped him so much, the last thing he wanted to do was mess this up too. Whatever this was.

He looked surprised, blinking a few times before his brain rebooted itself. “Me? I’m fine, kid, don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m a doctor, we don’t need much sleep.” His eyes smiled, though the lines on his face deepened as he began to wave a tricorder around Chekov’s shoulders as he ate.

McCoy needed sleep. He definitely deserved it, but beyond that, he seemed so fatigued he might collapse. If he really had been up all night, working on anything and everything with a cup of coffee in his hand, he needed sleep. Pavel frowned inwardly as he thought through this and began to plot ways to get the older man to rest.

Seeming satisfied with his readings for the time being, Dr. McCoy pulled up a chair next to Chekov’s bed, and sank down into it, exhausted but entirely focused on his patient. Pavel wondered how he did it, how he stayed so focused and intense all the time. He must have seen some terrible things, working as the surgeon of a starship. And yet he always seemed so calm and collected, steely. /He must be made of something I’m not/, he thought. But that was okay. Everything about the doctor seemed to be more. Stronger. More stable. Good. He felt himself relaxing further, his panic attack from earlier all but forgotten. Safe.

He heard the doctor take a deep, slow breath, settling deeper into his chair. “Alrighty. You know what we need to talk about.” His eyes met Pavel’s and they seemed to sink right through him to his core. He couldn’t think of a way out of this one, and… he guessed that was okay. So far, the McCoy hadn’t made him feel crazy, or like he was going to cry or burst out of his skin. He was okay here. So he would talk.

“Yes, okay. But can you ask questions? I am not sure I know what to say first.” Pavel said, setting down his fork. He still had food left, but he didn’t want to talk with his mouth full. He only wanted to have to say these things once. 

“Sure I can. And if you feel scared we can stop. But I need to be able to help you, okay?” McCoy’s eyes seemed to smile again, his easy tone making Chekov feel warm all the way to his toes. “So. Why do you usually…harm yourself? Is it because of how you feel?”

Pavel nodded slowly, swallowing. “Yes, I…it usually feels like I’m taking all of my anger and hurt and sadness and draining It out of my body. Like it had nowhere to go and I’m giving it a way out before it tears me apart.” His voice had wavered, slipping from confident to a whisper. He had never said these things out loud before, never even in his own head. It felt strange to form them with his mouth, like they were somehow…less? Like they weren’t real, weren’t valid. Like he wasn’t valid.

McCoy nodded, leaning forward again in his chair and placing one of his warm hands on top of Chekov’s. “I understand. There’s nothing wrong with you. You can tell me anything, I won’t judge. I’m here to make you feel better, yeah?” His thumb stroked across the top of Pavel’s knuckles, and his fingers curled around Pavel’s palm, holding his hand tightly. It did help, actually, and he wasn’t used to physical contact making him feel better; in his experience, it had always made things worse. He stopped his thoughts in their tracks before they could move to his father (he held back a shudder) and he focused on the gentle movements of McCoy’s strong hands, the lines of his fingers, the bones in his wrist. Pavel liked those hands. They were safe hands.

“So,” the doctor continued, and Pavel could feel the rumble of his voice vibrating in his hands. “Is this what you normally do? Just cuts? No burning, or…?” The open ended question made Pavel’s stomach clench a little, memories of how bad it used to be rising just below the surface of his mind, but he pushed them down. He didn’t need them; they were the past.

“Yes, just cuts. I have been doing it much less than usual.” Chekov said proudly, his chest puffing out a little, before he slouched back in on himself, seeming a little embarrassed. Bones laughed softly, using his free hand to ruffle the unruly curls atop Chekov’s head. He hadn’t brushed them that morning, or the night before, since he had been busy running to the med bay, and then dead asleep. But McCoy didn’t seem to mind, pushing his bangs off his forehead so he could see Pavel’s eyes clearly.

“You’re the cutest thing. How old are you?” He seemed genuinely curious, not like he was making fun of him, which made the ghost of a smile slip back onto Chekov’s lips.

“Sewenteen, sir. I’ll be eighteen in zree months.” Pavel’s little grin grew wider as astonishment flashed in McCoy’s eyes for a moment.

“You serious? I’ve never heard of an ensign assigned to an off-base mission before the age of 19, at least. Good God, you’re a little genius aren’t you?” His sarcasm had returned, covering up his astonishment (Pavel was secretly glad he had managed to impress the doctor).

“Kid, if you really want to stop, I can help. But it has to be up to you. If you don’t want to leave this behind, you won’t. I may be a miracle worker, but even I can’t make you better if you don’t want to be. So, what do you want?” His eyes were intense, boring holes straight through Chekov’s pupils into his soul. His heart sped up. Of course he wanted to stop! Cutting may make him feel better for a little while, that familiar itch and burn as his skin let out all the bad, but it made him feel worse afterward, ashamed of what he had done. Not to mention, having to hide all of his skin was awkward and annoying. He would stop. He wanted to.

“I want to stop. You’ll help?” Pavel tightened his fingers around the doctor’s hand, which was still wrapped around his. He thought he heard a sharp breath come from McCoy when their eyes met, but he could have imagined it. He felt almost high on the idea of leaving his habit behind, being entirely his own. And he felt so, so safe. Open. He had forgotten what it was like to live without being behind closed-off walls. And it was so good.

“You betcha I will. Always.” McCoy’s hand squeezed his for a few seconds, and then he stood up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t break anything while I’m gone?” He winked, slipping into an adjoining room with a clack of his boots.

Pavel let out a deep, sighing breath of relief. It felt like he had been holding it in for months, if not years. For once, he had hope. And he had McCoy. He smiled without noticing, lost in his thoughts.  
   
*****  
   
When McCoy came back through the doorway five minutes later, he found Pavel smiling wide enough to let cracks of sunshine slip through his teeth, practically radiating happiness. It was strange, in comparison to how he had seen the boy the day before, but it was good. He felt the warmth sink into him too, and then he was smiling too. What was this kid doing to him?

“Okay, kiddo. I have two bottles of pills that you need to start taking. They aren’t “happy-pills”, I’ve heard that one enough times. They’re mood stabilizers, and they’ll help get your brain back on track. I know what I’m talking about, I looked at your hormone levels yesterday and they’re all out of whack. Also, I need you to eat more— food is good for you. And I want you to come see me every afternoon. I want to check on you, make sure you’re okay. I’m always here if you need to talk, okay?”

Pavel’s eyes widened, and his hand reached out almost mechanically to take the two bottles of pills he was being offered. He couldn’t believe how kind the doctor was being, especially with his fist impression of the man being that he was gruff, grumpy, and not exactly a nice person. But he was. He cared, more than anyone else Pavel had ever met, and on top of that, he wanted to see Pavel every day. That meant this wasn’t just for show, this was real— McCoy cared about him.

He felt tears well up in his eyes and he was already on his feet, his arms wrapped around the doctor’s neck and sobs wracking their way through his body. He clung to him like he was a lifeline, like if he lost him he would lose grip on reality. He was so deliriously happy that he thought he would faint.

“Hey, hey there. Everything’s gonna be fine. What’s wrong?” The doctor said softly, rubbing circles in between Pavel’s shoulder blades. He felt the boy shudder, seemingly laughing through his tears.

“Yes, yes I am fine! I am just…wery wery happy…” Pavel said into the doctor’s shirt, fisting the material with both hands as he tried to take a deep breath and settle himself. 

McCoy smiled in spite of himself, letting the kid cling to his front. It lifted his mood to see Pavel happy, even though he had only met him a day before. He listened to the boy’s breathing even out, before putting a hand on each of his shoulders and pushing him back a bit so he could see his eyes.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid. You know that?”

Pavel nodded, warmth emitting from his smile. “Yes sir, I know that now. Thank you so wery much. I…I can go now? I really need to get back to the bridge, and I need a shower…” He trailed off, biting his lip. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re free to go. Medical discharge and everything,” McCoy said, leaning back against the table with Chekov’s plate on it. “But be sure to come in for those check-ups. And if you’re feeling upset, I’m here for you.” 

Chekov walked out the door, feeling lighter and more refreshed than he had in weeks, a bounce back in his step and a smile back on his face. Halfway down the hallway to the turbolift, he turned on his heel and half-jogged back to the med-bay where Dr. McCoy was back at his desk. He turned around when he heard the door slide open, and saw Chekov leaning against the doorframe, out of breath. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Forget something?” He asked, standing up. He took a step to steady himself, leaning against his desk.

“/Da/, sir, I wanted to ask you to call me Pavel,” He requested, his eyes shining and bright.

McCoy chuckled at the enthusiasm in the boy’s voice and replied, “Sure thing. Won’t forget.”

Pavel turned around, cheeky grin seeming permanently etched back into his face, where it belonged. He turned around. “Oh, and sir? Can I call you 'Bones'? I heard someone call you that when I first came in.”

McCoy groaned, letting one hand smack his forehead. “Oh no, not another one!”

But Pavel was already skipping down the hall, with the two new bottles of pills in his pocket and hope in his chest. He could do this, could do anything. 

He thought of McCoy’s soft voice when he hugged the man, his warm hand steadying him when he had to talk about the hard stuff. And he knew it would be okay. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> ~Credit to my good friend Oliver for helping me write parts of this, and for developing the idea with me <3 ~  
> ***Please comment, it helps me make improvements to my writing style. Thanks for reading!


End file.
